


the heart beats in threes just like a waltz (and nothing can stop you from dancing)

by tea_the_turtleduck



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, it's a fluff-angst-fluff sandwich, lots of kisses though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:52:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_the_turtleduck/pseuds/tea_the_turtleduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Laura discovers Carmilla's heartbeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart beats in threes just like a waltz (and nothing can stop you from dancing)

That night you left me a look in the mirror—  
A look I‘ve had too much of.  
And the Gypsy singer kept jangling her bracelets and singing of  
Love, and of love and of love.

—"To Anna Akhmatova" by Alexander Blok

* * *

The discovery of your still-beating heart takes Laura by surprise.

She traces the dip between your breasts, pauses, and looks at you, wide-eyed. “You have a heartbeat.”

And you just smile. “Why else do you think staking our hearts would kill us?”

She furrows her brows at that. Then she lowers her head until it’s resting against your chest, her ear pressed against your sternum. She closes her eyes and listens. You thread your fingers through her hair.

“It’s very faint,” she whispers.

“Just enough to deflect suspicion, I suppose.” You pause for a beat, letting yourself enjoy the warmth of her against your chest, the gentleness of her that soothes you as much as it makes you ache. You distract yourself by talking. “Our heartbeats are strongest after we’ve fed.”

“Is that the same with how warm you are, considering?”

“Yes.” You chuckle. “Don’t believe a thing that those ridiculous novels and television shows tell you.”

When you feel her move, you look down and you catch sight of her dipping her head until she’s kissing your chest. The ache intensifies, and you can feel it everywhere in your body. Your throat tightens in that way that lets you know you’re seconds away from crying. You grind your teeth as you fight the urge to grab Laura by the hair and yank her up and kiss that gentle mouth hard and fierce and desperate.

You’re still not used to it, the forgiveness she offers to you.

Instead, you temper your fingers to move in a slow cadence down the slope of her skull, to the base of her neck. She’s so small, so fragile and so infinitely precious to you. She lifts her head up to look at you.

She smiles in that beautiful way so distinctively hers, with her eyes aglow with wonder. “It beats in triple time.”

You raise your brows. Now _that_ is something you didn’t know.

Laura nods and she puts a finger to your chest, closes her eyes then begins counting. “One two three, one two three, one two three...”

And you can’t help but laugh. You may have amassed a wealth of knowledge in your three hundred and thirty-four years of existence but somehow this ridiculous, naive provincial girl still surprises you with her discoveries.

“Hey!” she frowns. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes.” You tug her up. “I’m laughing at you.”

“That’s not very nice.”

You shake your head, smiling. “No, it isn’t.”

You move in to kiss her but she turns her head away so your lips touch her cheek instead. You take what you can and you move to trace open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She places a hand against your shoulder, as if to push you away, but you can tell from the tremble that you feel coming from her that her resistance will last only a few seconds.

And you’re proven right, when that hand moves to the back of your head in one swift motion, directing your mouth to hers. Her kiss this time is the one you’re more familiar with, hungry and heavy with primal need.

Afterwards, Laura is nestled in your arms, her breaths still coming out in small pants, her heart thudding loud and clear. You smile as you kiss her sweaty forehead.

“You’re right; it does beat in triple time.”

*

The truth is you can’t hear it.

It’s strange, considering that being a vampire means heightened senses but you honestly can’t hear your own heartbeat. You know it’s there since whenever you play your part in Maman’s con game, it usually involved fainting and a doctor would be called to check on your pulse. But save for these instances, you often forget it’s there.

In one of your more morbid brooding moments, you think it’s because the place where your heart is supposed to be has become a graveyard where you’ve buried your dead.

*

But you believe in Laura, and so when she tells you it’s there, you take her word for it and it soon becomes a habit of hers to listen to your heartbeat.

You find the act endearing, one of the many little things she does that makes you feel so _human_.

*

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s for posterity!”

“Can’t I take you out on a date without the rest of the world bearing witness to it?”

“Okay, one, there’s nothing wrong with people knowing what an awesome girlfriend you are, and second, we can always keep this private, just for the two of us to watch as we reminisce about the beginnings of our relationship, and lastly, Perry and LaFontaine got this awesome camera for me and it’ll be a shame not to use it!”

“I swear I’m gonna make those Ginger Twins pay for this.”

“Come on, Carm,” she wheedles and god damn it, you’re going soft.

“Fine.” You glare at the video cam currently being pushed to your face. “Why are you so obsessed with documenting everything anyway? And none of those posterity crap again.”

You expect a snappy defence but instead, Laura steps back and lowers the camera. She just looks at you for a moment before dropping her gaze. “I just want to remember.”

Something twists in your gut, making you feel sick. You take a step towards her. “What do you mean?” you ask but it comes off as a growl. You hate the fear tinged in your voice.

Her eyes snap back to you. “No no no! It’s not like that!” She closes the distance between you. Her hand that’s not holding the camera reaches out to touch the side of your face. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not ever going to leave you.”

You clench your jaw as you try to calm yourself. “Then what did you mean?”

“I just—I just want to remember, just in case...” She takes a deep breath. She opens her mouth to continue but seems unable to get the words out. She closes it again.

It’s doing nothing to quell the panic currently choking you. You know there’s a shitload of things you two haven’t talked about, things that are very much important and that could break you both if not properly addressed. But you didn’t want the future to taint your present.

Though apparently Laura is practicing more foresight than you are.

“Carm! Carm!”

You don’t realize you’re hyperventilating until Laura’s telling you to breathe. And that makes you laugh. You don’t need to breathe, like at all, and so you shouldn’t be hyperventilating in the first place but you are. God you really are starting to act more and more like a normal human being with her around.

You laugh until you’re crying and Laura’s suddenly holding you. You both fall to the ground, her arms still around you, and you think it’s lucky that you chose a secluded spot to take her out on a date because the last thing you need right now is an audience. As it is, only the night sky and the trees are witness to your embarrassing breakdown.

“I’m not leaving you,” Laura whispers over and over against your hair and you _want to_ believe her.

When you’ve recovered enough of yourself, you disentangle your arms from hers. You shift until you’re face-to-face with her. You swallow the lump on your throat. “Tell me.”

Laura bows her head and you fight the urge to take her by the shoulders and make her look at you.

Eventually, she does it on her own. “I just don’t want what happened to my mom to happen again.” It’s the first time she mentions her mother to you and you wait for her to explain some more. “I can’t remember how she talked, how she moved,” she shrugs her shoulders even as her voice starts to break and her eyes are turning glassy. “All I can remember about her is that thin dying woman on that white hospital bed.” She squeezes her eyes shut and you suddenly hate yourself for prying.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

She looks at you again and gives you a small smile that breaks your heart. “It’s funny how those last three weeks managed to blot away seven years’ worth of memories.” She shakes her head and starts to cry.

You move closer until you can take her into your arms. She sobs against your chest and you whisper, “I understand. It’s okay, I understand.”

And you do.

*

You do understand because you can’t even think of Elle without tasting her tainted blood in your mouth.

(Your mother made sure to defile everything you held sacred.)

*

For a long time you’ve thought no one can ever comprehend the pain and loneliness engraved in your bones borne by centuries of an outsider existence and Maman’s vindictive manipulations. And maybe that’s still true.

But now, you’re beginning to understand that the narrative of loss is the same everywhere, even in a limited human lifetime.

There is no comparison; grief is still grief.

*

You try not to think about it, but ever since that disastrous date night, you find yourself fretting more and more about the future. Time seems to be moving faster now, even if it’s only been a few months since you and Laura started dating.

Even if you do believe that immortality is a gift and not a curse—which you don’t—it’s not like you can offer to turn her since the process involves brutal murder.

And it’s not like there’s a way to be human again.

(You’ve spent more than half of those three centuries searching for something, _anything_ that can free you from this accursed existence. The search yielded nothing.)

You worry yourself sick and Laura notices. Of course she does.

You don’t want to tell her but then she goes on and on about the importance of communication in a relationship and so you give in.

And ever the optimist, Laura tells you, “We’ll find a way, eventually.”

You roll your eyes at that. But then she takes your face in her hands and kisses you until you can’t remember anything else.

“Let’s just take each day as it comes.” She looks at you so earnestly with those lovely eyes of hers and you can’t help it.

You give yourself to her.

*

You wake up from your slumber to the feel of her fingers running through your hair. You purr your approval. It takes you a second longer before you realize she’s singing you awake.

“Good morning, pretty rosebud, I pray you tell me true...”

Your eyes flutter open and you see her lying on your bed, fully dressed. She’s looking at you with that unwavering fondness that still makes the breath you don’t exactly need catch in your throat. A look that, like her gentle touches, makes you ache.

She pauses in her singing. She smiles before leaning in to kiss you, soft and sweet. “Good morning, pretty rosebud.”

You’ve been called by a host of endearments many times before, most of them by your mother. But they’ve always been variations of _sweetheart, glittering girl, diamond,_ etc.

Never _rosebud_ , never something _alive_.

You feel affection flooding through your entire being and you briefly think that something is taking root in the graveyard in your chest.

You kiss her again, just because. “Time is it?”

“Quarter past five.” She rolls her eyes at your frown. “In the afternoon, grumpy-face.”

“Oh. So it’s not _good morning,_ then?” You stretch your arms but make no other move to get out of bed.

“Well _good afternoon, pretty rosebud_ doesn’t have a nice ring to it, you know?”

You don’t say anything, just wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her close. You bury your face against the crook of her neck. You press your lips against the skin there. You feel her pulse picking up and you can’t help but run your tongue over it. She shivers in your arms and that makes you grin.

“Carm,” she says, breathless.

“Why settle for good when we can make it even better?”

*

It’s difficult to miss people who have long gone when you have someone real, alive and breathing and so _yours_ in your arms.

But when you do, it still hurts so much that you cry.

Times like this, you leave the dorm room to go sit at the quad, and gaze at the stars until the fingers of dawn slowly wipe them out from the sky. You find comfort in the company of those who have witnessed the things you still cannot tell Laura.

 _They’re just old light,_ crooned that singer of a song you secretly love. _They’re just old light._

You don’t go out as much anymore, but sometimes you need time alone, and you only leave when she’s already asleep.

You return just before daybreak, and you find Laura sitting on her bed, preparing her notes for her class. She looks at you, smiles, and says, “Welcome back.”

And _god_ , you love her, _you love her_ even when you still can’t say those words out loud.

*

You take her out on another date, this time on top of a hill just outside town. The view from there is magnificent, with the lights from the town spread out below and the stars shivering out their light above, the two forming an image of imperfect symmetry.

You take her hand and her eyes light up with a lambent glow when she realizes what you’re doing.

She rests her other hand on your shoulder and you two start dancing in triple meter.

“It’s like that night when we first danced,” she says, as you give her a twirl. “It ended too soon. I wished we could have danced all night.”

“Me too,” you say, as you pull her close.

“I think I loved you then,” she says, her voice trembling a little.

You feel something bloom in your chest at those words and you can’t fight the smile on your lips. “And now?”

She takes a deep breath and looks at you straight in the eye. Your brave, headstrong girl.

“I know I love you now.”

You hear it then, your heart beating _one two three, one two three, one two three._

And you kiss her and kiss her and kiss her.

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by the Kafka and the Doll anecdote, but mostly by Firewood. Beautiful song but depressing as fudge.


End file.
